Missed
by RobertDowneyJrLove
Summary: Finding Christopher Chance sleeping on her couch was not the home-coming she had planned after a business trip but things rarely ever went according to plan with him involved. He claims he pulled a muscle and wanted to know if she could help. She thinks he missed her. Chance/Ilsa romance with a little bit of hurt/comfort because well...I'm friends with niagaraweasel!


He's asleep on her couch.

Her best friend, her colleague, the man who just happened to have a past shadier than anything the CIA could conjure, is sleeping on her couch. Now, while normally, finding him asleep isn't a big deal - his job required him to work odd hours, he had to catch sleep where he could - she never expected to find him on her couch. He always slept on his own couch or in his own bed but never at her place. He was the sole owner of the spare key to her apartment and he could come and go as he pleased but he hardly ever did so unless she asked something of him. Yet, here he was, laying on her couch in his usual jeans and t-shirt, sleeping peacefully, leather jacket crumpled on the floor at his feet.

Six days in London on business and this is what she returned too. Not that she minded, after dealing with the board of directors, he was a sight for sore eyes but it was rather amusing. He looked rather peaceful and it would be a shame to disturb him while he was relaxed like this, so, she decided to just let him sleep. She dropped her purse and jacket onto an armchair, brown eyes focused on him; laughing quietly she reached for his leather jacket and draped it across the back of the couch.

With that done and Chance still out cold, she headed up the stairs to change clothes - she felt like she had been living in a skirt and blouse for the last six days, she couldn't handle anymore buttons and zippers. She made quick work of changing into a pair of comfortable pants and a loose top. While waiting for him to wake up and realize she was home, she milled about her apartment, preparing lunch for both of them and making sure everything was in order.

"Ilsa?" Chance's sleepy rasp drew her attention away from the vegetables sizzling in the pan.

She turned the heat on the stove down and made her way into the living room; "Well, hello, mister Chance?"

Chance looked up at her with sleepy blue eyes, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "When did you get home?"

"About twenty minutes ago," Ilsa told him, resting her hands on her hips. "It was quite a surprise to find you asleep on my couch."

"Oh," Chance rubbed his eyes with his hand and winced at the sharp pain in his back. "Yeah, I pulled a muscle in my back, I was hoping you could help."

Huh.

A pulled muscle. That's his excuse. Pardon her lack of sympathy but she happened to know that he had dealt with far worse than a pulled muscle. He wouldn't just admit outright the real reason he was there - in all actuality, the real reason being that he, more than likely, just missed her - oh hell no, he had to be stubborn about it. He could be such a baby sometimes. Don't get her wrong, she adored him. She absolutely adored him, she wouldn't call him her best friend if she didn't but she didn't understand his aversion to feelings. Or, to be more specific, admitting them. Was it really going to kill him to admit that he missed her?

She had spent six days in London and had absolutely no qualms about saying that she missed him.

"Well, I'm making lunch at the moment." She tilted her head toward the kitchen. "Why don't you join me and then we'll see about your back?"

He nodded and stood up to join her in the kitchen. It felt strangely domestic and comfortable to be in her apartment in like this. There isn't any pressure to move at a certain speed and the professionalism isn't there and it doesn't need to be. Here, it's casual and they are to free to be what they really are; friends who enjoy each other's company. She moved about the kitchen with ease, fixing lunch and drinks for them both. It was obvious she had experience in the kitchen.

"Cook a lot?"

She set his plate down in front of him and smiled, as if reminiscing about something; "After Marshall died, I couldn't bear the loneliness. I needed to do something so I gave our personal chef a sizable paycheck and told him to do whatever he desired. I started cooking for myself."

"That must have been quite the experience." Chance grinned up at her.

"Yes, by the end of that week, I learned why I never cooked." Ilsa laughed, sitting down across from him at the kitchen counter. "I was terrible. I threw most of it away and ate out. Finally, after getting sick of eating out, I asked Connie to teach me. Connie's a fabulous cook and she knew what I was doing so she taught me the basics and I learned from there."

"You must be a fast learner because this is delicious." He complimented her easily, smiling when she blushed. "Marshall would be proud."

"Thank you, Mister Chance." Ilsa smiled softly at his compliment, refusing to let him see the tears in her eyes. He really had no idea how much those little compliments meant to her.

"So how was London?" Chance changed the subject easily.

"Boring. I thought the meetings would never end." Ilsa groaned, taking a sip of her wine. "Next time I'm taking you up on your offer to come with me."

Chance laughed and reached over to squeeze her hand; "Next time, I'll be on the plane before you are."

"Good." She wiped her mouth on her napkin and stood up to drop both of their plates into the sink. "Now about that back of yours. I think I have a solution. Come with me."

Without a word, he stood up to follow her and was surprised when she led him out of the back door and onto the patio. He was about to ask how this was going to help his back when she pointed to the large boomerang shaped jacuzzi with a tan plastic cover pulled taught over the top.

Oh.

Well this would be interesting.

xxx

Seeing Ilsa in a bikini wasn't necessarily one of his top priorities, purely out of respect for her dignity and his manhood, but he certainly wasn't going to complain when it happened. He was a normal red-blooded male, there was no way in hell he was going to complain when she stepped out of her apartment in a black bikini. The top - if you could call it that - tied around her neck and just beneath her shoulder blades. The cups accented her cleavage in such a way that his pants were quickly becoming an issue and when his eyes finally found their way to her hips, he's pretty sure he stopped breathing.

Dear God.

The woman was actually trying to kill him. The bottom to her bikini made her legs look a thousand miles long and the straps that wrapped around her hips only accentuated the soft curve that he was now itching to run his hands over. Not to mention the fact that the image of Ilsa in a bikini was now burned into his brain.

"You know, you're going to have to take your jeans and shirt off. It's going to be awfully uncomfortable in them." Ilsa told him, turning the knob on the jacuzzi to fill it with water.

Without another word, he pulled his shirt over his head, only to realize too late that it was a bad idea with a pulled muscle and reached for the button of his jeans. Ilsa's eyes widened, almost comically. She had seen him in various states of undress - a certain shower incident came to mind - but it seemed as if he had only gotten in better shape since then. If only his female clients knew what he hid under his jeans and t-shirts, they would probably be a little more hands-on. On second thought, if that happened, she might just kill them herself. Damn. He looked like some sort of god from Norse mythology with his messy blonde hair, blue eyes and a muscular frame that was mouth-watering.

"Shall we?" She motioned to the jacuzzi, trying to hide her flush.

He just nodded and made his way over to step into the tub with her. The water rolled with each spray of the eight jets in the tub and he could already feel the relief that awaited him. Once they were both submerged in the steaming water, the sexual tension that had practically fried the atmosphere seemed to ease and they were more comfortable with their decided lack of clothing. Yes, Chance and Ilsa were close friends but seeing each other practically naked was a whole other ball-game for both of them. They could play professional and casual, both were easy for them but there was still sexual tension and the slightest little thing - if you could call nakedness a little thing - seemed to stir it up. His muscular frame looked incredibly enticing in the rolling water and she could just imagine what he would feel like underneath her.

Damn.

That was one hell of a fantasy. The feel of the rolling water against them, the powerful surge of his hips underneath her, wet hands on hot flesh and hot, mouth-watering kisses. Oh dear. That was almost too much. Just the thought of Chance dominating her, taking her in such a powerful way, even while she was on top of him, drew her close to that edge. She forced herself to think about something else, anything else. Anything but that.

"How's your back, Mister Chance?" She inquired softly, tilting her head back against the rim of the jacuzzi.

"Better." Chance nodded, trying not to wince at the sharp pain that seemed to only get worse with each pulsating spray of the jets.

She wasn't an idiot. She knew it wasn't. She could see him flinching everytime one of the jets sprayed him in the back. She bit her lip, contemplating what to say next; "Perhaps this was a bad idea."

"Ilsa, I'm fine." Chance tried to reassure her but even he knew she wasn't buying it.

"Come here, Mister Chance." She motioned him closer to her.

She didn't have to tell him twice. He waded through the water and moved to sit down beside her, only to have her pull him by his wrist so that he was sitting in front of her. His eyes widened when her hands worked his back over, rubbing and massaging the tense knots until they gave way to loose, relaxed muscles. There was no way he could even try to make her think he hadn't enjoyed it. It just wasn't possible. Her hands were soft and she used the heat of the water to her advantage. His missions often left his back tied in tight, tense knots but she seemed to be hell-bent on untying them and untie them, she was. It felt good to be relaxed for once.

It felt good to be taken care of for that matter. Usually he was left to deal with these things on his own but lately, with Ilsa around, he hasn't had too and part of him thought that might have been the reason he decided to make a bed out of her couch. He knew it had been expecting a lot of her after she had been in London on business all week but he had missed her while she was in London. Six days without her had been hell and he didn't want to go through that again. He needed a reason to be in her apartment when she got home without having to say outright that he missed her - even though he did.

"There." Ilsa smiled, squeezing his shoulders. "Tell me, how did you manage to do this?"

"Boxing with Guerrero," Chance told her, turning to face her.

There was that damn tension again. Sizzling. Screaming to be relieved. He reached for her, his hands finding the soft curves of her hips. She came to him willingly, settling against him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He kept one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, holding her in place and buried his other hand in her curls. He took in her expression. Heavy eyes. Slightly parted lips. Oh damn. She wanted his as much as he did. He teased a kiss; brushing his mouth against hers just slightly. He's still not sure how this would play out but she tasted good; like wine, sweet and tart. He wanted more, hell, he needed more of her. He pressed harder, drawing her top lip between his and biting down. His hands explore everywhere, her back, hips, arms, shoulders, neck, anywhere they could reach. Her mouth felt like velvet; hot and wet with soft, supple lips. He obviously wanted to get to know her body and she didn't think he'd have a hard time learning.

God, it felt good.

Not just to be kissed by him, but to be wanted by him. She hadn't felt like this since Marshall. She had gone out on a few dates but one of them had been out of necessity and the other two had been awkward, with both her and her date floundering to salvage what could have been a nice evening. She just couldn't hide her growing attraction for her colleague. It certainly didn't help that he knew her, almost inside and out. He certainly knew her better than most. No man since Marshall knew her the way that Christopher Chance did and now, she truly felt like he wanted her. Not just her body but everything about her. He wanted her as his business partner, as his friend and hopefully more. He knew her and he was still attracted to her. Damn.

He was worth it.

xxx

Warm and relaxed.

After six long, cold days in London, it felt good to be warm again. She loved London but it was too cold most days and she found she had acclimated rather quickly to the warmer temperatures of California. Three hours in a tub of steaming water had left her ready for bed. She relished the thought of being back in her own bed again, instead of Connie's guest room. Connie's guest room was comfortable but nothing compared to the familiar comfort of her own bed. Or his arms for that matter. When she had suggested he join her in catching up on some much needed sleep, exhaustion on his part and jet-lag on hers, she had never expected him to be so eager.

"Mister Chance," She absently traced patterns on his chest, fingers tangling in the dusting of coarse golden hair there. "I have a question for you."

"What is it, Ilsa?" He wrapped one of her black spirals around his finger and let it go, watching it spring back into place.

She trailed her hand down his stomach to his hip and curled her fingers around his hip-bone, "Did you miss me, while I was gone?"

Did he miss her?

Of course, he missed her. It wasn't like he couldn't pretend there wasn't something missing in the warehouse. He had gotten used to seeing Ilsa working in her office when he jogged down the stairs in the morning. Six days without seeing that, without having her around, that had done things to him. He had found himself lost, in an odd sort of way. He just needed to have her around now. The warehouse wasn't the same when she went away on business.

"Ilsa, I..." He trailed off, unable to form the right words to tell her that yes, he had missed her.

"Christopher Chance, if you don't start talking right now, I'm going to kick you out of this bed and you can go back to the couch." Ilsa offered him a thinly veiled threat - one they both knew she'd never follow through with, regardless of what he said or what he didn't.

"Well I was trying but you cut me off," He dug his fingers into her hair, ruffling the curls that spilled into his palm. "Can I talk now?"

"Of course." Ilsa buried her face into his shoulder, trying to hide the dark flush heating her cheeks.

"You were in London for a week, Ilsa." His hand settled against her head, cradling it tenderly. "I did miss you."

"Oh you did?" Ilsa tilted her head back to look up at him, well his profile anyway. Not to stray off topic but the man really did have a damn fine bone structure.

"What did you think, Ilsa? I wasn't going to notice that you weren't around?" Chance asked her incredulously. "Of course I noticed and yes, Ilsa, I did miss you. Ask Winston."

"I don't doubt you missed me, Mister Chance." She told him softly, reaching up to brush his cheek with her hand. "I just thought it'd take more than a meaningless threat to get you to say it outright."

"I can admit things when I want too." He insisted, looking down at her with a petulant pout.

Ilsa just laughed, pressing her palm into his abdomen, leaving a trail of warmth as she slid her hand up to his chest, resting it on his pectoral muscle. Her eyes danced with mirth, despite the heavy pull of sleep and her voice was soft and breathy when she spoke again; "Stop fooling yourself, Mister Chance."

"I'm not..." He tried to protest but it was too late; she had already fallen asleep.

xxx

Christopher Chance looked over at the sleeping woman beside him. It had been so hard for him to admit anything that might reveal how he felt about her and he knew why but right now, he just didn't care. He knew that getting this close to her was dangerous, for both of them. There were people who wanted him dead; hell, his old boss probably still wanted him dead. He knew that his feelings for her put her in a lot of danger, possibly more than even he could protect her from but he couldn't live his life in fear anymore. He couldn't leave because he had feelings for her like he did with Maria. She wouldn't let him give up that easily. He had met his match in her and in a way, he had met the very person he needed in his life.

She could pull when he pushed and vice versa. She refused to take his crap and would personally call him out should he get out of line. They weren't afraid to tell each other when they were being a pain in the ass. They weren't afraid to be honest, regardless of whether or not it hurt. They weren't afraid to fight, even if it meant they said things they'd both regret. There wasn't a need to maintain a certain distance between them because they weren't afraid of each other. Perhaps, that was the most important thing. Not being afraid of each other.

He rolled toward her, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his body into hers. And as his eyes closed and he drifted off to sleep, he could only think of one thing.

Yes. Absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, yes.

He had missed her.

* * *

***cooing softly* C'mon Chance, crawl out of your corner. I'm back. Come out of your corner. **

**Haha! Anyway, hi! I'm back! My muse not so gently reminded me that I was neglecting poor Chance so I decided to pop back in for a while. I've been busy with a couple of cops who required my attention - yeah, I'm talking about Eddie and Tommy. Anyway, after kidnapping my Dad's copy of season one and realizing how much I missed both Chance and Ilsa, I decided to write this. Oddly enough, I was painting when this idea came to me. I thought it would be funny - if it does seem OC - for her to find him on her couch. I recently took up the hobby of painting wooden crosses, peace signs, bird houses, etc. It's relaxing and my muse comes out to play when I paint. **

**So, I consulted niagaraweasel a LOT on this one. Actually, I'm just going to be honest, if it wasn't for her answering my questions I doubt this story would exist. Yeah, that's how much I relied on her Chance expertise on this one. I'm a bit out of the game. LOL! So, niagaraweasel, thank you for all of your help, you're a doll! **

**Leave me some love, Dolls. **

**Love, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**

**P.S. Yes, I'm aware, I'm going out on a limb by calling him her best friend but he did stop her from flying halfway around the world, so the way I figure it, I'm on a safe limb - meaning, I'd appreciate it if you didn't chop down the tree. Lol! **


End file.
